


The Fundamental Things Apply

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9402791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya are sorting out some very muddled feelings.  Takes place about a year after becoming partners.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ksturf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksturf/gifts).



> I classify this as light, G-rated slash, and there are some references to a fic I wrote last year called Requiem of Spirit. I always welcome feedback, and as this is writing out of my comfort zone, I am requesting honest critique.

Napoleon and Illya had gone over most of the hotel ballroom with a fine-toothed comb in preparation for the dignitaries’ ball that would be held there in a few hours. This was also a landmark moment for them, as it was the first field mission they were on after recovering from the injuries they had sustained during their final confrontation with the Baron of THRUSH back in November; they had been doing administrative work related to their new promotions for most of December and had taken a vacation during the holidays (resulting in Napoleon taking Illya home to visit his parents), and now they were back in the field, just like before.

But there was one major difference—an elephant in the room that had been there since the Baron case had ended: Napoleon had been in a stupor after falling off of a waterfall, and in his desperation to bring him around, Illya had confessed his feelings. “To know you is to love you,” he had said. And the words—and the gentle kiss to his forehead that had followed—had brought Napoleon out of his stupor to respond that he had felt the same way in regards to knowing Illya.

It was inevitable that they did feel love for each other—after everything they had been through together in their first year as partners, how could they not? But the question remained—what kind of love was it? Napoleon’s parents hadn’t pressed the issue when they had shown up for the holidays (and had subsequently fallen asleep side by side in front of the fireplace), but his parents had made it clear that whatever it was that was between them, they would support them, and that Illya would always be part of the family.

As for Napoleon and Illya themselves, they hadn’t really delved into the issue, either; they were still close and spent as much time together as before, and their work relationship seemed just as good as it had been before.

But the unspoken question had certainly affected Napoleon’s life, at least—he had stopped going out on dates, opting to spend his spare time with Illya, and he was beginning to realize why—the feelings, at least on his part, were romantic, but he wasn’t sure whether or not it was the same for Illya. But being the professional Napoleon was, he wasn’t letting his feelings get in the way of this mission.

He now waved to Illya across the room.

“Anything?” he asked.

“ _Nyet;_ the walls, floor, and furniture on this half of the room are clean,” Illya said. 

“So is everything on this side,” Napoleon added.

“Good. All we need now is to check the curtains and that piano.”

“I’ll check the piano,” Napoleon offered. Illya nodded and inspected the curtains.

Napoleon diligently went over the piano and, finding it clean, as well, opted to try it out for his own amusement; he deftly began to play C. P. E. Bach’s “Solfeggietto,” something he had learned in his youth. It was a short piece—just over a minute long, but he was so absorbed in playing that he didn’t notice Illya staring at him from across the room in wide-eyed wonder.

He was, however, aware when, upon finishing, Illya started applauding him; Napoleon looked over to him with a grin.

“You liked it?”

“That was _amazing_ , Napoleon!” Illya breathed; Napoleon paused as he heard the unfiltered admiration in his partner’s voice. “I did not know you could play!”

“Well…” Napoleon shrugged. “I took lessons when I was a kid—guess it’s one of those things you still remember after all this time.”

Illya gave a nod, and indicated the curtains over his shoulder.

“The curtains are clean.”

“Good; the piano is, too—and perfectly in tune, as you can tell,” Napoleon mused. He stopped in mid-chuckle as Illya approached him and the piano now, still with that awed expression on his face, and Napoleon suddenly felt a few butterflies in his stomach. “I, ah… I guess all that’s left to do is…” He cleared his throat. “Seal off the room until… until the dignitaries get here.”

Illya nodded, and then glanced at the piano once again.

“Do you remember any other songs?”

“Well, ah…” Napoleon could feel the butterflies stirring even more. “You know my favorite movie is _Casablanca_ ; I learned how to play ‘As Time Goes By’ when I was a kid, too…”

Seizing the chance for a distraction, he began to play the intro, breathing a quiet sigh…

…Until Illya began to sing the lyrics.

“ _You must remember this_ …”

It was Napoleon’s turn to stare in awe now; his hands were on autopilot as he continued the accompaniment. He’d had no idea that Illya could sing—no more than Illya had known he could play the piano.

Their gazes locked, and Illya, too, was fighting back butterflies as he sang—

“ _And when two lovers woo, they still say ‘I love you,’ on that, you can rely_ …”

Illya was looking right at him when he sang those words; it was completely deliberate, and the butterflies in Napoleon’s stomach were in full migration.

For him, there was no doubt as to what kind of love he felt—and he was daring to hope that Illya felt the same way.

They played and sang the song to its end, and Napoleon got to his feet.

“I didn’t know you could sing…”

“Do me a favor and don’t let anyone else know,” Illya said, going slightly red but not looking away. “I do not particularly enjoy singing in front of others.”

“…You just sang in front of me.”

“I sang _for_ you; there is… a difference,” Illya insisted.

Napoleon exhaled and decided that it was time to address the new elephant in the room.

“Illya, when I fell off the Falls, you said to me--”

“—That I love you. And though you did not ask me to clarify what kind of love it was, you did not show any sign of revulsion at the thought of it being romantic. It encouraged me.”

“And I felt the same way,” Napoleon admitted. He gently touched Illya’s cheek—a gesture he had done before, but now with a new meaning behind it.

Illya smiled now—a genuine smile.

“What happens now?” he asked.

“Well, right now? Right this second? Unfortunately, we’re still on duty,” Napoleon said, ruefully, and Illya rolled his eyes in mild exasperation. “But tonight, when the mission’s over, how does a late candlelit supper on the hotel terrace sound?”

“It sounds to me like the start of something truly wonderful, and I look forward to it,” Illya said, honestly. “Now let’s seal off the ballroom and stand guard.”

They did so, the both of them realizing that this night was going to be even longer than they anticipated, for waiting for the mission’s end was even more on their minds than before.

But Napoleon knew he could wait; he’d waited this long, after all. And he had nothing but good feelings in regards to what lay ahead for them. After all, it was just like in the song that Illya had just sung—

 _The world will always welcome lovers as time goes by_.


End file.
